Manifesto

Cordelia Diamond

Ms. Parham

AP Language and Composition

                                                            Manifesto

I keep too many dead flowers in my room. I guess once I have them it never occurs to me to throw them away.

You can’t really tell when they’re dead; they hold themselves together convincingly enough...

I think that that is rather mischevious on their part.

They’re just empty remanants of life

Just husks.

                        But they are sneaky

            If I look quickly enough I can convince myself that there’s

Actually something there.

                                   

                                    -but there isn’t....

If I touch them they crumble, instantly.

I’m angry because I feel cheated. They weren’t what I expected

I’m sad because they weren’t what I expected.  I’m sad because

                        I expected.

I’m angry because I’m disappointed. I’m foolish because I expected too much.

But I keep them in my room and keep expecting. I don’t look too hard.

I fool myself.

                        And I in turn am a fool

I do this with people too.

I look to them for things that aren’t there. I suspend my disbelief

Indefinitely

I hang my doubt from the gallows.

I won’t allow it to touch down, even though it strangles me.

I want to see my reflection in your heart.

            Values. Morals. Deep discontent. Shallow satisfaction.

More often than not... I see apathy.

The people around me don’t care

            -not really.

And you see; people like me can never be objective, we make everything so personal.

Now why is it that I weep at upon the sight of both beautiful and evil things?

The old man sitting alone in a corner booth at Friendly’s

            Makes me tear up over my sundae.

I wonder about his story. I bite my lip and stare pointedly at my phone as my friend laughs at me.

                        She is right. I’m being silly.

Still-- I can’t help but wonder why I seem to be the only one affected by it.

The sadness, the clarity of that moment.

I feel like I am staring up at two moons

While everyone else stares at one.

                        My empathy is a weakness. It cripples me.

It is not empathy at all. It is a man clutching to the belly of a sheep pretending to be no one.

It’s an impostor! Empathy is reflected emotion, and the whole spectrum of light is absorbed by your emotions when I gaze upon them. So where is my light source?

It is much easier, then, to pretend you are understood.

Much harder to pretend you understand.

In the words of Vonnegut’s Bokonon:

                        I wanted all things

                        To seem to make some sense,

                        So we all could be happy, yes,

                        Instead of tense.

                        And I made up lies

                        So that they all fit nice,

                        And I made this sad world

                        A par-a-dise.

If I am deceived, I am.

           

            But Augustine, what if I deceive myself?

I dismiss the notion. I am not alone. I am not alone, I just haven’t found the words yet.

Yes! They were there once.... but they were too powerful.

“And the Lord said: ‘Behold, they are one people, and they have all one language; and this is what they begin to do; and now nothing will be withholden from them, which they purpose to do.’”

Is god himself afraid of my articulation?

It is no matter. He has no part in this.

He was wrong anyway. One stupid tower means nothing.

A tower is hardly a city! It must be a city. Emerson says that Language is a city to the building of which every human being brought a stone.

Where’s my stone? What am I bringing? Who am I?

            I’m Cordelia Diamond, one of the roughs, a woman, a dedicated taker of naps, a Canaanite, a cynic, a sensitive one. A strong one. A khaleesi. A bad Oedipus.

I speak from under a roof. I speak from privilege.

I speak with a thesaurus. I speak with the internet.

I speak with parental support. I speak with an education.

Do I speak at all?

I feel guilty for the things I have and the things I do.

I do not deserve them. I am not original... though Emerson is wont to forgive me.

            But I don’t forgive myself. My guilt isn’t helping anyone or anything.

I cancel my pity party.

It would have been badly attended anyway.

I shall start the day like Benjamin Franklin;

Rise and ask myself: ‘What good shall I do today?’

            Myself answers.

                        “Everything you can.”

And I can. I can choose to cry over the lonely man at Friendly’s just as much as over the sunset in Ecuador.

           

A good Samaritan performing selfless acts.

            I could be that Samaritan.

            Could or could not I’ll still cry over it.

I’m troubled by this assignment. How could I write about life when I’ve never had a love affair or a baby or even seen anybody die?

Teenagers laugh and cry and yell. That’s all anyone thinks we’re qualified to do anyway.

...And if you aren’t laughing and crying and yelling, then surely you are making someone else do any combination of the above.

I  am a poet of the body and the of the soul.

But my body is changing! Alas, I am the poet of puberty.

My soul is not yet mine—my parents are still working on it.

When will my soul ever be mine?

If I have to ask myself, I know the answer is never.

You see, I have a problem.

It’s an implementation problem- problematic, obviously.

Sometimes I have these revelations, big and small

Sometimes they’re not really revelations at all...

            Sometimes I realize “this is life, this is happening right now”

            “this will never be now again”

am I doing it right?

am I living it right?

am I doing anything?

            It’s too frustrating to think about. I’d much rather sit in front of the television

            or curl up inside a book.

I can project

In projecting I protect my hope

                        Maybe... I can be the same?

My hope stares up at my doubt, swinging in the breeze, rope around neck, and smiles.

 hope knows that doubt is a criminal. hope is satisfied with justice.

.....hope can’t help but remember doubt’s swinging black silhouette.

           

Chances are like fireworks- if you don’t spark ’m up soon enough they’re not ever gonna light up for you.

I’ve had a box of fireworks under my bed for quite some time.

I’m serious.

I guess it could be phrased like this:

I have too many blank journals and empty frames

White paper is a personal insult

            Taunting me:

You’re weak! Weak-willed, weak-spirited!

On the edge of a precipice, feeling light and nervous

The beckons of the joy below

Nervous laughter.

I warn, brow raised in challenge- “Don’t push me!”

            Too bad, I want to be pushed

            I need to be pushed

            It’s safe but I-

Well, not this time.

I am no shiksa.

And my nose only looks button-y from my coat lapel.

            That goddamn angling- 2 degrees more and I’m Gregor

the Russian repairman

Never thought I’d be spending any portion of my life thinking about face angling, but here we are.

You see I don’t think well with my eyes open.

In my sleep I come to closure about a lot of things. I plan things, I realize things

But dreams only.

“They were troubled and feverish hours”

disturbed with dreams that were intangible, that eluded her”

hmm...

....something unattainable (48, chopin)

I keep dreaming that I’m floating in a river with my mom when the current picks up

The current picks up and mom is whisked beyond reach

Mom is whisked beyond reach and I begin to fall behind

I begin to fall behind and I look ahead

I look ahead and there’s the cliff, the waterfall

The cliff! The water fall!

Mom goes over. I don’t.

I keep getting closer to that precipice though

agony, frightened tears-

            Nevermind, I don’t really want to think about this again.

I feel like a space monkey, reading rote “You are not a beautiful and unique snowflake”

I sit on the ground and ignore the ache in my back:

(If Adam and Eve only had their asses and the dirt, why does sitting on the ground hurt?)

I sit:

“You are the same decaying organic matter as everyone else, and we are all a part of the same compost pile” (Palhnuiuk,134)

You’re not special, I’m not special

Don’t you know, they can even take your face and give it to someone else?

            Your heart even

            Limbs even!

            Kidneys odd- if you give one away.

All I want is for things to matter

            To other people I mean

            That starry eyed romantic crap

Those cute rose coloured glasses seem out of fashion now.

           

Apathy is my enemy

            I want to fight it, defeat it

            But apathy feels no need to battle

It just

s

i

t

s

.

Walking towards my car in the school parking lot

I reach behind me in silly gymnastics, trying to snag my keys from the backpack front pocket without pulling everything else out.

I keep walking

Pause. Turn.

Narrowed eyes...

my ticket to a lightshow in Athens is sitting on the ground.

I don’t wonder how it got there. There in my backpack, there on the ground.

 I pick it up, I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t.

But I stand silent for a few minutes...

...musing about what would happen if I just left it there

What would someone think if they found a ticket to a Greek lightshow in the Brien McMahon parking lot?

They probably wouldn’t think anything, or find it. Which depresses me for some reason.

I keep it. I’ll write about it someday.

            -the lightshow, I mean.

When you pursue the things you want you get further from the things you love.

They are not mutually exclusive things, contrary to what we believe

The more I work for a goal the less I work for myself

I have to make my goal myself..

            But let me finish this first- it can wait

Stop!

 I have something to say!

Pre-Posal- Save the APs!

• The Art department is severely underfunded and understaffed
• The staff that are already in place are qualified to teach higher level classes but most often do not
• In addition, the process for assigning courses inhibits the likelihood of higher level classes (normally pursued by highly motivated and/or passionate students) from running and being made available
• The spots for art classes are taken up by the hordes of students who take a lower level art class simply as a means to fill a requirement- these students are often urged to dump themselves into basic classes in one of the most underfunded departments in the school (not the only department able to offer an art credit, in fact)
• They are not encouraged to possibly pursue higher goals or distribute among other art classes if no passion or preference is indicated for the subject
• Despite the allocation of all time and teachers to providing the amount of lower level sections demanded, students signing up for these classes are still frequently unable to get in the course
• The percentage of students who sign up for higher level classes and get denied is even higher, especially because these classes are often not run at all
• All of these factors contribute to a growing culture of discouraging and demoting motivated and passionate students with diverse interests
• In order to change the situation the BMHS guidance office should first establish a better method of distributing students across the course selections when they are faced with the need for an art credit, and should give priority to the students who express a keen interest and desire in the arts
• May meet with head of guidance office/guidance counselors to discuss changes like distributing information about alternative course offerings
• Bracket like system of organizing students into art classes; possible survey for students considering course selection to gauge interest in elective classes in order to give those more interested top priority
• Other methods of receiving art credit should be promoted for those who are apathetic to the particular course subject (online classes, for example)
• We may take a survey/poll of current art students to gauge apathy/interest in their current classes
• The less well known classes that fulfill the art requirement should be publicized and students should be distributed across these if no preference is indicated
• The Norwalk Board of Education can also be contacted and the funding and class capping/eligibility requirements should be petitioned to allow more opportunity for students to take higher level courses and pursue their passions with support from their school
• A oral proposal or written statement of need may be made to the Board at one of their meetings
• Fact sheets with data I gathered from the art department, the school handbook, and this year's district budget should be synthesized clearly and used as evidence to support the statement of need
• interviews with students may be presented to personalize the problem
• The preferable solutions 
• an equalization between the course availibility, staff, and funding at norwalk high and brien mcmahon
• Running AP Art History
• Encouraging a system/algorithim of redistribution and an attitude of encouragement for higher-level class seeking students
• Without a fourth art teacher 338 students are not placed in requested classes
• With a fourth teacher 156 students are still unplaced

Barf Blog Blog (Blog)

           My criteria for evaluating blogs would probably be considered by most to be a bit too intense- as an avid reader of blogs of all kinds I have very high standards for their quality. As I evaluated “Barf Blog,” a blog on food safety maintained by a Kansas professor, I came to the conclusion that the blog is an effective dispatcher for food safety news but an unprofessional and ineffective source for consistent original content and interpretation of said news. Now, this judgment was not made without thorough consideration to my previously mentioned criteria- criteria which I will briefly summarize in order to give insight into my process.

            Firstly, given that the “About Us” section of Barf Blog indicated that the blog was meant to promote awareness about food safety through educated and well informed posts with research as evidence, I classified this blog as a “Professional” (information oriented) type. As such,  my evaluation is limited to a specific set of criteria applicable to that type.  A few general standards included in this criteria are credibility, visual appeal , organizational fluency, and interesting/meaningful topic coverage.

            Although the “About Us” section of the blog does do favors for the authors ethos as far as professional credibility goes- the authors mention that they are all doctors and that all the opinions they publish must be evidence based- the random 15 blog posts I read showed a consistent lack of professionalism and self gathered evidence to back up opinions. Many times a brief summary of a food safety event would be written, without any evident judgment making, and then the “reins” would be handed over to a random news source and the remainder of the blog post would be an extended quote from another published article. Personal anecdotes were often shared in context with topics that had seemingly no relation. For example, one author discussed his daughter’s boyfriend’s hair’s similarities to his own youthful mane. Curse words also frequently littered the blog posts, and while this gave an intimate and friendly tone preferable in a personal blog, the crass language detracts significantly from the credibility of a professional and information based blog. Additionally, some posts were not even vaguely related to food safety topics, including; “War Sucks But Sometimes Necessary: Anzac day in Australia” and “Soccer’s Suarez hit with 10-game ban for Ivanovic bite” which talked about Australian holidays and soccer, respectively. In the visual and organizational sense the presence of these random posts throws off the flow of the information and purpose of the blog as a whole.

Overall, Barf Blog seems to fall short of its stated goals as a professional food safety information source, leaning towards the informal and losing credibility and fluency due to this as well as inconsistent and confusing structure. Despite this negative conclusion, I would argue that this blog has a lot of appeal as a personal blog- vaguely oriented around the general topic of food safety but not purportedly dedicated to it. If I evaluated this blog with my criteria for personal blogs it would most likely perform favorably.

The Multitude of Milks - Revision

 For my family food has always been an impetus for order. Anytime we become -as a group or as individuals- too disjointed or chaotic, my family institutes some drastic changes in our eating-as if this will be a solution to all of our problems. It has been this way since I can remember. I can recall a time when I drank milk on the regular- now I am banned from the terrible liquid. Now, our fridge has a corner exclusively for almond milk; which is “Cordi’s drink.” Before almond milk it was rice milk. Before rice milk it was soy milk, and so on.

            When my brothers were little it seemed like maybe they would escape the brunt force of my parent’s “food meddling.” They didn’t. My youngest brother, Leo, had developed a penchant for vegetables and coffee at an early age, which was basically a formula for perpetual skinniness, something my dad and I envied - but was not healthy for a growing 7 year old boy. As for my middle brother Oliver, his appetite was only rivaled by his rising height- something which shocked my whole family (a family of short people) and had my mom rushing to the doctor's office when Oliver couldn’t get out of bed due to his legs literally growing so fast that he could feel immense pain in his knees. Every year the doctors would tell my mom the same thing; Leo-underweight, Oliver-overweight, Cordelia-average. So naturally my mother realized that cooking for all three of us as a unit was not going to work- we each had to be rehabilitated individually- through our diets, of course.

            For Leo it was a diet rich with candy and “healthy-unhealthy” snacks, by which I mean 1000 calories wrapped up in a package with more muted colours from Trader Joe’s, which apparently signaled (to my mother) that these foods were superior- organic and over expensive. For Oliver it was the sudden decision that he go gluten free. The fridge and pantry filled quickly with gluten free brownies, gluten free mini muffins, gluten free waffles, etc. It should be noted that just as I was never allergic to lactose, Oliver has never at any point been allergic to gluten.

            I was told, as a girl who was still growing (actually I wasn’t, the doctor had said that I was done growing forever) to eat plenty of protein. While I took that as a light suggestion, one to be followed at my own discretion, my parents interpreted it differently. I regularly hear cries of; “Protein! You need to eat some protein with that!”, ringing through the house. No joke, I hear it when I sleep. My parents were not content with average. I began to develop the discreet suspicion that they were trying to fatten me up for some sort of experiment of the most evil kind. (I still have that suspicion)

            But alas- I discovered something far more calculated lurking under my parent’s food revivalist attitude. Upon contemplation of the strange patterns of diet, I noticed that all changes in food roughly coincided with changes in our lives. For Oliver, entering middle school was the catalyst for his sudden gluten free lifestyle. For Leo, it was his struggles in school and his anguish once he could grasp the concept of “adopted.” For me; it was a little more complicated. The many changes could be connected to many things, but the most significant ones started taking place in sophomore year when I was finally feeling the stress of challenging coursework, college plans, and an unclear future. I was pissy and reclusive (I still am, but in an okay way) and my parents were not prepared to deal with a hormonal teenage girl at the emotional level. Those mood swings... lets just say I’m glad I’m not a parent. Anyway, my parents way of dealing with that was to decrease the amount of “agitating” foods in my diet. I was restricted from foods with corn syrup because my mom once read somewhere that it caused aggression. I was also given more protein and more iron because a homeopath told my parents that this would reduce my stress levels and my constant fatigue.

            The worst part is that they were right. My parents food meddling, no matter how irritating, actually helped me in significant ways. I increased the protein and iron in my diet and I found myself with more energy to get through the day. I decreased the hydrogenated corn syrup filled foods in my diet (aka candy) and I felt much less irritable. And even if I stole over to friends houses on the regular to eat Lucky Charms and Poptarts, I felt a constant reminder of my parents love whenever I thought of my food restrictions- which were really just a subtle guiding hand, symbolic of the care of my parents.

I still drink normal milk on the sly though.

10 Line Rhetorical Analysis

JUSTICE KAGAN: (...the State's principal) interest in marriage is in regulating procreation. Is that basically correct?

MR. COOPER: I — Your Honor, that's the essential thrust of our — our position, yes.

JUSTICE KAGAN: Is — is there — so you have sort of a reason for not including same-sex couples. Is there any reason that you have for excluding them? In other words, you're saying, well, if we allow same-sex couples to marry, it doesn't serve the State's interest. But do you go further and say that it harms any State interest?

Justice Kagan employs several interesting rhetorical techniques in order to make her point. Her natural rhetorical device is ethos and is relative to the setting- the very fact that this case is being heard in the Supreme Court and that she is one of the respected sitting Justices establishes the credibility of the hearing and her opinions. The Justice acknowledges her audience; her fellow justices, the people testifying for the case, and the american public. She appeals to her audience by using clearly framed questions in order to guide and establish the point she is making, first asking Cooper if her summary of his point is "basically correct?" When he answers in the affirmative (using ethos by referring to the opinion being held by "we"), she continues to challenge him clearly on that point, assured that her audience is following her line of thinking.  She successfully uses the Respondent Mr.Cooper as a bounce board for her argument, leading him with questions in order to trap him in a possible logical fallacy. By conceding to him that maybe he has established a reason not to include same-sex couples in the classification, she then pushes his argument to an area of moral and logical innacurac by asking him wether he is then implying that gay-couples must be "excluded." The use of the words "excluded" and "harms" to refer to the legality of Gay-Marriage is also a calculated rhetorical technique. Kagan uses words that inspire a negative image and create pathos. She makes Coopers basic claim seem like it is accusatory and excluding, rather than neutral and logical like she had initially allowed him to frame it. Her audience, following her line of direct questioning, would recognize the trap that Mr.Cooper was stuck in- he could not answer without making a moral judgement- claiming that allowing gay couples to marry would actually harm the states interest- instead of just being irrelevant to it. This logical fallacy can be classified as circular cause and consequence; Cooper implies that because Gay-Marriage does not serve the states interest it is not legalized, but it does not follow that its legalization would actually harm the states interest. Just because it does not "serve" the interest it does not guarantee that it "harms" the interest, so what reason is there from preventing the legalization if it has virtually no effect? Cooper would be hard pressed to answer this question without making a moral judgement or logical fallacy- Kagan has succesfully trapped him by questioning the logos of his own argument.

The Multitude of Milks

            For my family, food has always been an impetus for order. Anytime we become, as a group or as individuals, too disjointed or chaotic, my family institutes some drastic changes in our eating-as if this will be a solution to all of our problems. It has been this way since I can remember. I can remember I time when I drank milk on the regular- now I am banned from the terrible liquid- our fridge now has a corner exclusively for almond milk; which is “Cordi’s drink.” Before almond milk it was rice milk. Before rice milk it was soy milk, and so on.

            When my brothers were little it seemed like maybe they would escape the brunt force of my parent’s “food meddling.” They didn’t. My youngest brother, Leo, had developed a penchant for vegetables and coffee at an early age, which was basically a formula for perpetual skinniness, something my dad and I envied but was not healthy for a growing 7 year old boy. As for my middle brother Oliver, his appetite was only rivaled by his ever rising height- something which shocked my whole family (a family of short people) and had my mom rushing to the doctors office when Oliver couldn’t get out of bed due to his legs literally growing so fast that he could feel immense pain in his knees. Every year the doctors would tell my mom the same thing; Leo-underweight, Oliver-overweight, Cordelia-average. So naturally my mother realized that cooking for all three of us as a unit was not going to work- we each had to be rehabilitated individually- through our diets, of course.

            For Leo it was a diet rich with candy and “healthy-unhealthy” snacks, by which I mean 1000 calories wrapped up in a package with more muted colours from Trader Joe’s, which apparently signaled (to my mother) that these foods were superior- organic and over expensive. For Oliver it was the sudden decision that he go gluten free. The fridge and pantry filled quickly with gluten free brownies, gluten free mini muffins, gluten free waffles, etc. It should be noted that just as I was never allergic to lactose, Oliver has never at any point been allergic to gluten.

            I was told, as a girl who was still growing (actually I wasn’t, the doctor had told me and my mother that I was done growing forever) to eat plenty of protein. While I took that as a light suggestion, one to be followed at my own discretion, my parents interpreted it differently. I regularly hear cries of; “Protein! You need to eat some protein with that!”, ringing through the house. No joke, I hear it when I sleep. My parents were not content with average. I began to develop the discreet suspicion that they were trying to fatten me up for some sort of experiment of the most evil kind. (I still have that suspicion)

            But alas- I discovered something far more calculated lurking under my parent’s food revivalist attitude. Upon contemplation of the strange patterns of diet, I noticed that all changes in food roughly coincided with changes in our lives. For Oliver, entering middle school was the catalyst for his sudden gluten free lifestyle. For Leo, it was his struggles in school and his anguish once he could grasp the concept of “adopted.” For me; it was a little more complicated. The many changes could be connected to many things, but the most significant ones started taking place in sophomore year when I was finally feeling the stress of challenging coursework, college plans, and an unclear future. I was pissy and reclusive (I still am, but in an okay way) and my parents were not prepared to deal with a hormonal teenage girl at the emotional level. Those mood swings man... lets just say I’m glad I’m not a parent. Anyway, my parents way of dealing with that was to decrease the amount of “agitating” foods in my diet. I was restricted from foods with corn syrup because my mom once read somewhere that it caused aggression. I was also given more protein and more iron because a homeopath told my parents that this would reduce my stress levels and my constant fatigue.

            The worst part is that they were right. My parents food meddling, no matter how irritating, actually helped me in significant ways. Even if I stole over to friends houses on the regular to eat Luck Charms and Poptarts, I felt a constant reminder of my parents love whenever I thought of my food restrictions- which were really just a subtle guiding hand, symbolic of the care of my parents.

I still drink normal milk on the sly though.

Culturally Sensitive, Japan Accomplishes the Seemingly Impossible

Proponents of free trade argue that it increases cultural exchange between nations. Opponents argue that it undermines cultural stability—both in terms of popular cultural and small-scale businesses.

The irony of  the controversy around Japan’s forays into outsourcing is that Japan’s form of outsourcing is actually very mild in comparison to the exploits in offshoring and outsourcing of other first world countries. Outsourcing, for the most part, implies a drastic movement in both location and workforce. Jobs formerly belonging to citizens of one nationality are effectively transferred to the citizens of a foreign country. Typically, outsourcing practices entail a host of potential cultural conflicts, e.g., nuances of social etiquette, language, accent etc. While North Americans have a relatively callous attitude toward the cultural elements of outsourcing, the Japanese pay meticulous attention to how their outsourcing practices affect the country’s cultural stability. Bhagwati, Panagariva, and Srinivasan define outsourcing as “delegating one or more business processes... to an external service provider from a country that is geographically remote from the clients’ enterprise” (Bhagwati), by which it is established that some form of transplantation, from native country to foreign, is required to indicate outsourcing. However, Japan manages to avoid, for the most part, the truly “foreign” influence of outsourcing that comes with the required geographical displacement. Instead of outsourcing jobs from Japanese workers to Indian workers, Japan relocates the Japanese workers themselves to India, thereby maintaining the cultural connection between the workers and the customers they are servicing in Japan. Through this unique approach the Japanese maintain a delicate cultural balance, reflecting their traditional societal values, even in this dynamic sector of the global economy. Specifically, the tradition of lifetime employment and rewards for employee loyalty are important consideration because “as American as outsourcing may be, in Japan it reflects a business culture stubbornly resistant to practices that sacrifice employee well-being for the sake of efficiency”. (Strom)

According to the OECD’s, “International Migration Outlook 2012” there was a outflow of roughly two hundred and fifty thousand Japanese persons in 2010 (International Migration Outlook), many of whom are likely to have taken jobs abroad servicing Japanese customers. The Jobs taken abroad are markedly less well paid than the ones in Japan- “Transcosmos, [a provider of outsourcing services] pays a call center operator in Thailand a starting salary of about 30,000 baht, or $930, a month — less than half of the ¥220,000, or $2,500, the same employee would get in Tokyo”. (Tanikawa). Ms. Natori, a young Japanese worker who was offered a job in Thailand servicing a Japanese company, claims that the lower salaries are actually manageable, given that the cost of living is much lower in foreign countries. (Tanikawa)

The unique Japanese approach may not seem consistent with the essential goals of outsourcing, like cost cutting and profit increasing. However, as Mr. Ichikawa a middleman for Japanese workers overseas, is quoted in the New York Times as saying; “While Japanese companies could save even more if they hired only locals overseas — some experts say locals could be hired at half the cost — the preference for Japanese nationals is likely to endure”. (Tanikawa) This commitment to hiring Japanese workers for outsourced positions overseas, because it is driven by the more insular orientation of their culture, might therefore appear unlikely to waver. However, recent Data from the Japan Bank for International Cooperation suggests that “Japanese manufacturing companies are [moving] in a direction to increasingly use more overseas [local] personnel” because their business overseas is expanding. (JBIC)

Works Cited

Bhagwati, Jagdish, Arvind Panagariya, and T.N. Srinivasan, “The Muddle Over Outsourcing,” Journal of Economic Perspectives, Vol. 18, No. 4, Fall 2004, pp. 93-114

"International Migration Outlook." 2012. OECD, n.d. Web. 07 Mar. 2013.

"JBIC | FY2012 Survey (the 24th) Report on Overseas Business Operations by Japanese Manufacturing Companies." JBIC | FY2012 Survey (the 24th) Report on Overseas Business Operations by Japanese Manufacturing Companies. N.p., n.d. Web. 07 Mar. 2013.

Strom, Stephanie. "THE BUSINESS WORLD; In Japan: Outsourcing Without A Capital 'O'" The New York Times. The New York Times, 16 July 2000. Web. 07 Mar. 2013.

Tanikawa, Miki. "Many in Japan Are Outsourcing Themselves."  NYTimes.com. New York Times, 21 July 2010. Web. 07 Mar. 2013.